


A Crown Of Sorrows

by Oneroika_Lunae



Series: The Queen Of Mirkwood [1]
Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canonical Character Death, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 13:55:28
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4922122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oneroika_Lunae/pseuds/Oneroika_Lunae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Thranduil returns to his homeland after the final battle against Sauron and his forces, crowned King and carrying his father’s corpse”</p><p>This is the first of a series of one-shots about Thranduil life with his wife, from their marriage, to Legolas birth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Crown Of Sorrows

They marched in a silent line, with their new King leading them on the front; riding proudly one of the steeds they were left.

Oropher King and most part of the army of Erys Lasgalen fell before the orcs of Mordor, but in the end, the light won the battle. None of the survivors was free of grief, and especially their new king, crowned and wedded in the middle of the battle field, mourning silently his father, his emotions plainly visible on his paler than usual face.  
By the King, The Queen of the Greenwood marched alongside with her newly wedded husband, a severe expression on her face, with her armour on and proudly carrying the banner of Thranduil’s house.

They marched through the fields of Gondor and the Brown lands, following the Anduin back to their homes. They made their entrance in to Erys Lasgalen singing for the first time since before Sauron marched to war, and they were songs of grief, of pain, of loss. They sung about their King, and his loyal subjects. They sung about their bravery and their mighty deeds in battle. They sung about their blood, spilt of the earth, red mixing with the black of the blood of orcs. They sung about the deeds of those who return home carrying the fallen to the forest. They sung, at last, of their new King, of how He demonstrated been a good leader and the promise of peace and prosperity He now represents for all those who have fallen under his rule. 

The color seemed drained from all that surrounded them, so great was her husband’s grief. Anyway, she couldn’t reproach him anything, since she herself didn’t feel like smiling anymore. She was there when Oropher fell. She was there, but couldn’t do anything to prevent his passing. Thranduil wasn’t ready for the crown. She knew, and he knew that she knew. He was immature to a level his father couldn’t have imagined. Oh, he acted all regal when it was needed, but most of the time He was a giant, childish cat roaming around for attention. How were they supposed to rule the kingdom on their own? Taking care of the guards? Easy as cake, she has been a soldier all her life. Managing a kingdom, while preventing your grieving and overdramatic spouse to do something foolish? She would rather return to the horror of the battlefield. At least there she would have a clue or two about what to do. 

Asking for help on those first months wasn’t possible (years, more accurately, her husband mental healing will take time, no doubt) with the mess left by Gil Galad, Elrond and The Lady Galadriel had enough on their hands. And it wasn’t like she could speak of her worries to her husband. Her idiotic, exasperating husband whose incessant talk has been replaced by silence since the moment he pronounce his marriage vows. It was something that makes her angrier at him than anything he did before, and he did plenty of things to make her mad in the past. It’s totally annoying when someone you’re walking next to doesn’t talk to you at all for weeks, but when that someone is your newly wedded husband… She was tempted to cuff him over the head, just like when they were teenagers training with the royal guard. 

The Queen observed his husband, who rode by her, head hung and his golden hair, fell between them as a curtain. His eyes, so blue they use to glow, seem now dead and opaque to her. His lips were tightened on a thin line, and were drained of all color. He looked old… So old… It seemed that he was now human, with a mortal body, and slowly, as grains of a sand clock, the years lived as an elf were taking their toll on him. 

The whole court waited in front of the palace, with the rest of their people that lived in the capital, and they bowed when they descended from their mounts, bowed again when the body of her father in law was brought forward, and bowed one last time when they walk to the gates. Everything was done in silence, which only inflamed her rage further, and she was detailing the monologue she was going to have with his husband when they were settled again. 

She zoned out for a minute, and the next thing she knew is that she was alone in the hallway to her chambers. So mechanical were her movements that she didn’t notice until she was near her door. She entered the room with stomping feet and delivered a kick to the door that closed with a loud bang. 

Hiding her face on a pillow, she let herself scream until her throat was sore and her temper calmed. The pack was carelessly tossed upon the bed and she started unpacking the few things that survived the war. Two changes of clothes and a ribbon the same shade blue of Thranduil’s eyes. Not that she would admit it, not even under torture. The sap in their relationship was her husband, who was effectively proving her right with his dramatic tantrum and nonsense. She lost friends in this war, too. She lost family members. She lost her king and father in law, and she was there when it happened, not like Thranduil, who was in charge of the soldiers located uphill, with the archers. She was there, with the elite corps.

She saw those trolls coming towards them, their footsteps shaking the floor beneath their feet like an earthquake. She saw the club rise and make a perfect arch before slamming into her king, no, her uncle ( for he was nothing short of that to her, before and after her courting, and he have been a good friend of her father for a long, long time) and sending him flying through the air backwards several feet before landing on the floor with a loud crack, and he laid there, unmoving, for what it seemed an eternity, before they pushed the enemy back and regrouped their forces for a counterattack. It was her who made sure the corpse was found (she remembered the exact point of the battlefield where he laid, blood staining the earth, flies taking the battlefield while cries of pain and despair could be heard along the plain) and she waited with him on her lap until Thranduil made it there, from the healer’s tent where he had been sent with cracked ribs and a cut from shoulder to hip on his back. She kept watch so none of the scavengers could get to him. And she cried. Silent cries without tears, little hiccups that shocked her and a stone on her stomach, making her feel like drowning. 

She didn’t even realized she was there, sitting on the bed and shaking like an autumn leaf on the wind, not until there was a soft knock on the door. Her heart leapt on her chest. She knew he would come around sooner or later, that he will see reason and behave like an adult…

But it wasn’t Thranduil on her door, it was one of the councilors and for the look in his face, the elf was in great distress. So soon after the end of the war, she feared for the worst. An attack of some sorts against their home. It was a good thing she didn’t take off her amour then. With all this wrath bubbling up in her… let the come, by the valar, let them dare to attack her home again. 

“My Queen… We… we wanted to know if the king would join the council, for there are many matters that require his attention and of course there is the coronation to prepare…” She frowned. Thranduil was supposed to take matters into his hands as soon as they arrived. Oropher’s funeral was to be arranged as soon as possible, surely there were petitions to sign… or whatever kingly affairs her father in law used to take care of “Why wouldn’t he?” she asked, still frowning, and only when she saw the councilor cowering did she realized that, with the armour on, and that scowl on her face, she looked a bit intimidating. 

She almost smiled. Almost. 

“The King is in his quarters, Your Grace, but His Majesty refuses to talk to us and would not leave the room, we fear for him, Your Grace” They feared Thranduil faded like his mother did when all her family was slaughtered on an attack to their caravan. AAAARRRGGHHHH If he weren’t so pretty and cute, she would make a rug out of his hide. She sighted and let her head hung, defeated. “I will talk to him. The council appointed by Oropher King can rule in place of my husband one day more. Make sure they have everything ready for the funeral and the coronation” The councilor was so grateful he bowed three times on a row, and she was sure he must have gave himself a headache tossing his head up and down that way so fast. Still bowing, He left her room and, after locking the door (the councilors may knock before pestering her, but many of the friends that remained behind didn’t have manners at all) she went over to her wardrobe and pulled it open. Wasn’t such a good idea, mind you, who would have known that the inside of the thing, will get so dusty during her absence. 

Since getting changed into something less ragged seemed an impossible task, she just undid her armour and put it aside to be cleaned later. Opening the door with another sight (really, she was reaching her limit when it comes to bullshit, valar help that jerk named Sauron if he bothers them in the next millennia or so) she set course to her husband’s rooms, which were reasonably close but far enough to be considered proper for a courting pair, especially since one of that pair was a Crown Prince. Just before she was to knock at his door, she realized. Now that they were married, the king’s chambers were theirs. They will have to move. They will be together.

All.

The. 

Time.

She loved him dearly, but more than twelve hours per day with him qualified as pure torture (and generally ended with shouts –hers- and cries- his- and with someone sleeping in the gardens at the other side of the castle just to be as far away as they could from each other) She didn’t knew how much time she stood there with her hand on a fist, ready to knock, but at the end she shook off the trance ( and those horrible, horrible pictures of her new husband and all the troubles he would get himself into and gods, now they will share a room, geez, she could recall the painting phase experience when they ended up covered in pink paint from head to toe after he insisted she posed as model for his new art project- which wasn’t that bad, but still he wasn’t an artist by far- or that other time when he found a box of stray kittens and took them in, against his father’s wishes – wise elf, even wiser father- and hided them under his bed, and fed them vegetables and wine…poor, poor little things… and poor servants…) 

The knock was followed by silence, but she decided that being married means that it was all right for her to catch him in the middle of changing clothes, and things like that.  
She was prepared to find him sprawled on the bed, an arm over his face, drinking wine and babbling nonsense and being overdramatic in general.  
She was ready to deal with tears, bone crushing hugs, a running nose and in general all the thranduilness she was used to.  
She wasn’t sure she would ever be prepared for an empty room and a trail of empty bottles leading to the bathroom.

Iluvatar above, they have been back for what? Three minutes?? Maybe five?? Even with her tendency to zone out for hours it couldn’t have been so long that he was able to leave such a trail behind him. She walked around the empty bottles and sighted again. Opening the bathroom’s door, she found him, at last. 

“ You are the very picture of a noble king, slumped in your fancy bathtub drinking wine directly from the bottle” He just turn his gaze towards her, his gaze that wasn’t empty anymore, but full of fire “ You look like you have come out from hell, dearest heart” at least he found his tongue. Finally. She have been waiting for his words for so long…  
And this idiot (Why did she marry him?? Oh right. Bewitching, pretty blue eyes full of fire and sorrow…. Ugh, how the mighty have fallen) was drunk for all to see (luckily, all meant only her, what would his future advisors think of him? This elf has no brains whatsoever)  
“The council calls for their king” He snorted, and moved his hand, splashing water everywhere. “Their king is dead” Lifting the bottle, he emptied it, and bended over the board of the bathtub to get another one. He had at least ten of those bottles neatly ordered beside the tub. The wet hair clung to his torso and his neck, making the water run down his chest. Such a distracting sight just when she needed a clear mind… one day this elf will be her death, she sighted. 

She shook herself from his spell and approached the bathtub ( those drops of water were indeed a distracting sight, not a very clever move on her side, that’s for sure) and notice the silver scars that stood up on his white skin, on his arms and chest and down to… “Are you wearing breaches on the bathtub?” “Aye, boots too” and to prove his words he lifted one of his long, long toned legs to show her the soaked boot. That sent again water over all the room, and she thought that, handsome or not, she was going to push that bottle down his throat if he splashed her again. 

“Get out of there, your people needs you” She came forward and grabbed the boot, pulling it off and tossing it to a corner “Get inside, I need you” He’s arm shot up from the water and tried to seize her wrist, but the wine was already in his system, too much in so little time, and his movements where clumsy as those expected from a drunk. For good measure she stepped to the side and cuffed him over the head. “Get out right now Thranduil, I can’t believe you are acting like it was the end of the world” Her words cut through him like an orc blade, her tone, cold and hard, her eyes even more “You are not the only one who lost a family member in this war, and everyone has pushed forward, I can’t believe that you will act this way while your people wonders what will happen next. When your father’s body, the only body we brought back with us lies waiting for his funeral, and you are here, drunk and acting like a fool”

She saw him flinch which every word and remark, and when he closed his eyes, face contorted in an expression of pure pain and shame, she turned around to leave. Her work here was done. She couldn’t bear causing him pain, even if it was necessary to make him move. 

She didn’t make it to the door. A great splash was heard when the new king rose from the water and crossed the room in a few steps, just to trip with the water he was trailing on the floor ( though, if she was to be asked, the wine was to blame, the wine, and Thranduil’s own clumsiness, well hidden, but still there) He grabbed her knees, in what was supposed to be a hug of some sorts, with his face pressed to the back of her knees, but it just served to make her trip and fall on her face. Luckily she broke the fall with her arms, and they lay there, on the wet floor, with the elf still hugging her legs. “I’m sorry” it came the mumbled answer from him. “You better be, you knocked me off” she said, joking, trying to alleviate the heavy air that hung upon them. “Nuh, I’mah surry for befure” “Thranduil, love, maybe you should try to talk to me and not the back of my knees, I can barely understand you” She felt him move his head from side to side; a no it was, then, She will have to guess. 

“Are you sorry for behaving like a spoiled brat?” That he was, by the way, a spoiled brat and a giant cat that didn’t know how to treat the rest of the sentient beings of the world and that needed his father to keep his relationships working, that depended on the older elf to give him advise on how to act and behave around polite, thinking company. And now he lost him forever. She felt him nod against her legs. “And for acting like said spoiled brat when there are people who needs you?” again, another nod. She sighted ( It worried her that all that sighting was becoming more and more habitual the more she related herself with Erys Lasgalen’s royalty – or any kind of elven royalty, for that matter-) “Come on, let’s dry you up and get you dressed, or something, and I can do your hair and we will talk” Again, another nod. She made an attempt to move, just to find the grip on her legs tightening. 

“Let go” She attempted to poke him a bit with her foot, which she assumed was at level with his clavicle (stupid handsome elf with his stupid handsome body and his stupid oh so tall height) “Come on, Royal Pain in the ass, let me go and stand up” the grip loosened at last and she rose to her feet. Thranduil, though, was still on his hands and knees, head hung, hair spread wildly on the floor ( it will take a while to comb that mane full of waves to the shiny straight curtain he liked to wear) She bend slightly ( she had to fall for someone who could give Maedhros a run for his money as the tallest elf, when she was more on the near-a-dwarf’s-height-but-not-quite-there side of the scale, it was just her luck) and level her hand to his eyes. “Come on, don’t make me wait, I can’t believe you find that position or the situation dignified” He shook his head, but didn’t move at all. “Thranduil…” she said, and there was a warning on her voice. One he knew very well, since was the tone she used when she was fed up of his dramatic gestures and decided that enough was enough, which usually ended in tears. He changed to a sitting position and looks up to her “I can’t do this. Not like him. It will never work!” She sighted (again. Bloody royals…) 

“You have been raised to be king, darling, is difficult for you to fail. And no one and I repeat NO ONE is expecting you to rule like your father did, not to ace it the very first day. This is like learning to use a weapon, you need practice, and in the end, it will be like breathing” She grabbed his hand and pulled until the irritating stubborn depressing elf followed her to the bedroom, where he stood unmoving as she threw the cover of the bed to try and get him dry. Then she pushed him to the bed so he will be sitting there and dragged the chair from it’s position in front of the desk to a new place in front of the idiot. An Idiot who’s hair was starting to dry with the warm air of the room and slowly, waves and curls where appearing, giving him an air of newly awoken five-year-old. How adorable. If he just dropped all this drama thing…  
“Get off your clothes, they are wet, you need to get dry and change into something not covered in dust from the road… or wet” He removed the rest of the clothes and draped himself with the covers until he seemed to be a roll like those the cook used to prepare from time to time with cheese and salmon on it. 

“Now that I’m not soaking wet, we can talk… can’t we?” He said, and sounded so petulant and insecure at the same tame that she barely restrained herself for giving him a tight hug ( not giving any hugs to that elf until he’s better covered, she knows his modus operandi, after all) “I…I can’t stop thinking that I should have gone instead. That He didn’t have to lead the charge, that we didn’t need to go in the vanguard as ill equipped as we were. That it was all Gil Galad’s fault and that stupid Elrond…” He sniffed, and a single tear come out from the bird’s nest that hided his face, following a path through his cheek to his chin and falling in his lap. The covers moved a little and his chest was uncovered again (not very good for her brain functions, but she had more important things that thinking of creamy skin or pouting lips or…or… stupid, stupid elf...) She couldn’t tell him that they knew, could She? That even if the situation wasn’t the greatest, with Gil Galad’s troops in trouble the only option was a quick attack on the enemy from their position. They weren’t wearing the best armour or had the best weapons, but they could try and save the High King and the men that fought by his side. 

“I’m sure you would only have died on me that day. You would have left me alone in a stupid try to protect your dad. That troll would have clubbed you, maybe on the head, maybe on the chest, and you would have fallen, and I will be mourning two elfs instead of one” “It was a troll, then. You didn’t tell me. None of you spoke to me of it” She smiled, a sad, crooked smile “It’s not like you have been chatting with us the whole journey back. Yes. It was a troll; they came upon us when we broke through their first line. They let them loose upon us, with those terrible things made of metal and stones with spikes. I don’t know how I survived that horror” He clutched her hand on his bigger hand and gave her a pretty sad smile to match hers. When He spoke, his voice was trembling 

“I’m glad you survived, anyway. Oh, and I thought so many times what could have happened…and that makes me feel even worst because as I ran through the battlefield to see if I could find father, I was only wishing for your safety. Please don’t take her. Please, please, let her stay by my side. Please. When I found you, covered in blood and tears with his body on your arms, I didn’t think about him. How can I be such a horrible son? Not caring about your injured, possibly dead father? How monstrous makes me that?” 

She understood him. She understood him so much. His father was now lost to her in the marshes, his body lost to an orc blade, forever to remain in the water, with the rest of the dead. She didn’t get to say goodbye. He was a soldier, and she was raised to be one as well. They knew what their fates would bring. But yet… What she will give now, for a few words with him? Did he know that she loved him very much? She would like to reassure him about her sister that she would always take care of her, no matter what. Did she ever tell him that he made a good job raising them both after her mother’s passing? She understood how He felt. They were the same things that plagued her. In dreams, she saw him, falling on battle, the situation always changing, was it an arrow? Was it a blade? Did they have to face the horror of the trolls in the marshes? Did he suffer? Did he die alone in the water? Sometimes, the nightmares will superpose and she will see that troll killing his father instead of Oropher, time and time again. She didn’t realize she was shaking until Thranduil pulled her closer for a hug. 

“I…I did the same. I was thinking of you, if you were dead as well, if I was alone now, if… if…” the sobs took her and she trembled in his arms like a leaf in the wind. “I’m so glad you are alive Thranduil, I’m so glad that it is your father who lies dead outside, so glad that it is my father’s body on the marshes and not yours, I can’t even think of life without you, you irritant pest, no matter the many and horrifying ways you find to upset me, I don’t know if that makes me a bad or a good person, but that’s how I feel” He kissed her forehead and they sat there, embraced and sobbing together.  
By the time they separated, Thranduil’s hair was completely dried and in need of a brush. A good sturdy brush and a good dose of patience. He refused to leave his fortress of bed sheets, so she went to the bathroom and back again for the things (oils, and creams, and only The Valar knew what else did he put on his hair to tame that wild thing in to a straight-like-silk hair, probably something involving unicorn tears and maiden’s blood recollected ritually on a full moon) and sat behind him on the bed.  
She started brushing the hair, separating it on strings and untangling them with the uttermost care. She never cared when Thranduil whimpered or jumped, because she knew for certain her silly husband would do such things to blackmail her later on for treats and kisses (how naïve she was at first, thinking she was practically ripping his skull apart, and how he did convinced her to do so many stupid things, and spoil him many times…) every bit of the unruly mane was now subdued into a silky curtain of shinning silver hair. 

She pressed a kiss into the back of his head and another one on his neck. She kissed his earlobe and murmured “we still have to go out, dearest, we have to carry on…you need to…” “I need to meet with the council, and make the necessary arrangements, and start ruling my country and leading my people, Don’t I?” she smiled against his neck when he sighted. At least she was not the only one who had become fond of sights of late.  
She kissed him and went to a drawer, were she chose a silver circlet, similar to those Oropher favored, and place it on Thranduil’s brow. “ I don’t want to be alone…” he said. She kissed him, long and tender, and smiled fondly, resting her forehead against his, with his hands cradled on hers “I will be there every step of the way, never let them say I was one to back off from a fight” He chuckled and kissed her nose “yes, kingship will be a continuous fight” He rised then and starting to walk to the door. She could help but smile, and the chuckle, and the laugh so hard her sides hurt and there were tears on her eyes. Thranduil was standing there, looking puzzled at her, and she dissolved into a fit of giggles again. 

“What’s so funny, wife?” and oh, his tone was so clueless, she thought she was going to laugh to death. It cost her time to recover, but when she did, she dry the tears from her cheeks and looked at him, scanning his body from head to toe, before giving him the greast shit-eating grin she could muster. “Unless you want to start a new court fashion and give the servants something to go about their day happy as a clam… I suggest, husband, that you put some clothes on first… not that I find your body something to be covered from head to toe, but wearing something more than what you have when you were born it’s preferable when faced with a room full of councilors…” 

It took him a second, to look at her with astonishment, then look to himself, and start laughing with his wife. “Oh my… dearest, it looks that this silly king will need your help more than he thought” he turned to put on some clothes, and she looked at him with a fond smile in her lips (and if she stared a little more of what would have been considered proper, well… they are married now, and, Thranduil deserves a very detailed scan and a good amount of staring)  
He chuckled when he turned, buttoning up his robe and caught her on her staring, blowing her a kiss, and walking to her to actually give her one. “Should we go now, dearest wife of mine? Or should we wait a little bit more, so you can stare all you want?” she could feel the blush creeping though her cheeks all the way up to her hairline, and she sputtered “You…you…you…”at last, words came out of her mouth, outraged and with the tone of one who was caught in a prank by an elder “you cheeky bastard….go. Right now, go fight those mean councilors and whatever kingly thing you have to do” she turn him around, and pushed his back until he stood in front of the door, while Thranduil laughed himself silly at his wife’s antics. 

He opened the door so she could continue her pushing to the hallway, and only when they reached the main way to the chambers of the council did he stop laughing and turned around to stop her pushing. She was flushed and didn’t look at his face in any moment, when he bent to kiss her temples and her nose, and her lips. Then he turned to face the door in front of him. The door that will lead him to a new life, one as king of his people, one without his father. That door meant the end of the life he knew, and the birth of a new one, a life with a future full of possibilities and choices and new paths for him to walk. The door was his father’s death, and the death of his friends and subjects and comrades, the suffering of his people and the darkness that was defeated at such a high cost. He didn’t like the idea, but he stilled himself and tries to remember everything his father ever taught him about ruling. He prepared him all his life for this. For his father, he would not fail. A small hand touches his, and suddenly his wife is by his side, a determined expression on her face, the same she wore to battle, and he feels stronger just by that slight touch. 

They walk together through the doors and stand, proud and tall, as the councilors bow to their sovereigns, and they take sit on the king and the queen’s chairs, and the servants didn’t finished shutting the door when the royal couple was surrounded by the other elves, asking for help or for their attention.  
Oropher’s funeral was a public affair, and his pyre was tall and burnt brightly, not only for him, but for the rest that fell with him in the battle against the Dark Lord. 

 

Thranduil’s coronation (the second one, anyway, as he was crowned on the battlefield before he took his marriage vows, and what a tragic and sad event was that) was splendid, and served as a point that marked a new beginning for the whole realm, helping them


End file.
